Astro Boy
by phooykazooi
Summary: Surviving energy-sucking robots, a new body that he still doesn't really know how to control yet, and a disgusting surface world that Metro City ignores, how can Toby figure out his new life? A series of one-shots based on our adorable robot-boy. Some one-shots may be AU. Requests are encouraged and welcome.
1. Chapter One

I do not own Astro Boy, the movie or the cartoon.

Okay, I wrote this story a long while ago, and it was just hangin' in the desktop, so I figured, what the hay-I'll post the damn thing! So, yeah. I've written a kind of sequel, and though I do have a couple ideas zooming through my empty head, I don't think I'll be able to finish this, so enjoy!

Astro Boy

Wherever he was, Toby honestly didn't want to know. It smelled horrible, like burning oil and garbage. Whether he liked it or not, however, Toby had to wake up.

Slowly, he sat up, and was about to groggily rub a hand over his face when he got a look at it. His hand was still in that red metallic glove his da-Dr. Tenma gave him. His feet, too, were in those red boots, and he briefly wondered if he had his shoes under them, and what state his cloths were in.

Briefly, because a robot promptly grabbed his wrist.

Its fingers were coated in rust and it scratched Toby's skin. Gulping, the robot-boy flicked his widened eyes to the robot's face. It was worse than its hands. The jaw was unhinged and hanging, its left eye was missing and the other was flickering on and off.

"Please," it said, voice static-y, "spare some energy." It did not beg, merely asked in an emotionless monotone.

"Um," heart racing, Toby pulled on the robot's fingers, "s-sorry, but I…" he let the sentence hang, not knowing what else to say. He pulled a bit harder when he heard others clanking their way to him. One of its fingers snapped off in Toby's hand, and he scrambled to his feet. Quickly, he stepped away, stumbled on something he didn't even want to know was and fell slash slid the fifty or so feet down the hill, rather mountain, of garbage.

"Ow," Toby groaned, struggling to his hands and knees. He was thankful that his new body could take such a beating with such a small amount of healing time but Toby could still feel himself himself reaching his newest limit. The gel in his hair had long since been blown away and it hung in his eyes and tickled his neck. His advanced ears heard shuffling far above him and the robot-boy forced his head around and made his eyes focus. Above him, dozens of old, falling-apart robots had gathered on the mountain he was just on. Some were crawling on their front, legs unable to support them; some didn't have any legs (or limbs, for that matter). It was a struggle to move even an inch.

They paused, no doubt searching for him. Then, as one, they turned to the frightened raven-haired robot-boy and began to slowly descend. A few lost their footing on the steep decline and fell apart on their way down.

Toby did not wait to see how many would still be intact, let alone working. He turned on his red-booted, can't-freaking-take off!-heel and ran.

He tried to duplicate what he did when he fell from his window (because the idiot sprayer-bottle thing freakin' sprayed him!) but the boots refused to work. They made a sound like they were charging to take off, then, when Toby's heart would blossom with triumph and hope, they just erupted into smoke. Toby didn't try again for fear they would blow up.

Robots practically popped out of thin air and swarmed around him, begging for new parts but would be pulling at him regardless of his panicked No!'s. Toby franticly pushed his way through the needy robots, trying his best not to cause any more harm to those around him.

Eventually, Toby outran the weakened 'bots and managed to escape them. Panting heavily, he threw himself at the ground his back scratching against the uneven, dirty floor, chest heaving and heart racing from the run. Toby groaned quietly and brought a trembling, gloved hand to his face, placing it on his cheek and sighing from the coolness of it against his feverish skin. He rubbed the metal glove over his face, trying to cool it down. His right arm was lying limply at his side and Toby was scared to look at it.

Gathering his courage, the robot-boy studied the damage. His clothes, both his jeans and the T-Shirt were ripped, torn, and singed. The right side of his bosy, he noticed detachedly, was quite nearly vaporized. They only clung on in strings and thin bits of tread. He wondered how it hadn't snapped and falle during his run from the locals. He could see his boxers clearly, and even half of that was gone. His hipbone, the right side, and shoulder were both bare, if one discounted the pissed blisters and cuts.

All in all, Toby needed to find new clothes. Anything would be better than this. Not that someone could even call the cut-up pieces of yarn clothing.

But when Toby saw what state his body was in, he honestly didn't know whether to throw up or cry. He couldn't see what his back looked like, nor did he want to, but he got a good look at his front arms, and both legs. They were blistered, red and raw. Cuts littered the areas and from the itchiness on his back, Toby guessed it was the same. But the worst by far, that made him lose what little was in his stomach was the sight of his mangled right arm. There was a gaping hole in the area between the shoulder and elbow; his "bone" was in full view. (Artificial?) Blood was flowing steadily from the wound, but Toby forced himself to focus on the "bone."

"It's not real," he muttered to himself, after his sickness had passed. "I'm not real." That sobered him up.

Taking another deep breath, ignoring the thick smell of the blood, (it didn't look fake but he didn't know what blood smelled like) and the bile raising in his throat again, Toby focused on the "bone." It was metal, and it glinted in the afternoon sunlight. There were small but thick and long wires attached to it, gears as well. They reminded him of human muscles he saw in a medical book once. He flexed his arm but had to muffle a scream by clenching his mouth shut and biting his toungue. It hurt like Hell! Through the pain, Toby felt admiration and awe swell in his chest at his father's–Dr. Tenma's work. He truly felt no different from when he was a human! Well, except for the flying and being able to survive point-blank missiles and falling thousands of feet...

The flaring pain everywhere brought Toby back. That, and the loud creaking, squeaky horde of robots that he just escaped from were now on their way. Of course, they were still a ways off; it should take at least ten minutes for them to get to his position.

Still, Toby reasoned, the sooner the better.

When he tried to stand, however, Toby almost fainted from the pain and fatigue. Through sheer force of will, he managed to unsteadily get to his feet. Taking a step, on the other hand, was an all-together different story.

It took several minutes to so much as take step forward. Luckily, he had a lot of mounds to support himself with. So, he continued on to find somewhere he might be able to hide until the other robots passed him.

-BORDER!-

I apologize for any misinformation. I'm only a teenager. I don't know anything about the body. The gloves I put because, well, he needed to steer himself right? Iron Man enlightened me. R&R!

Phooykazooi


	2. Chapter Two

Hello, you! I wrote this story a long while ago, and it was just hangin' in the desktop, so I figured, what the hay-I'll post the damn thing! So, yeah. I'm not really thinking about a sequel, though I do have a couple ideas zooming through my empty head, and don't think I'll be able to finish one anyway, so enjoy the (presently) one-shot!

Astro Boy

Toby's stomach growled for umpteenth time since he woke this morning.

The robot-boy had taken a long nap-two days locked in a deep sleep. When he woke, Toby felt as though someone had poured sand into his throat and that if he didn't find something to eat quickly, his stomach was going to eat itself. So, the teenager went off in an epic adventure for food. He hasn't found squat. Luckily, the gloves he had used in his accidental flying were able to be remvoed, but he didn't exactly have anywhere to put them. So, dejectedly, because there was no way he could fly without them, he decided to carry them, in case he needed a quick get-a-away.

Irritated, Toby kicked an empty soup can (he checked) and winced when he was brutally reminded that his wounds from the fight and the fall from a floating city had not healed completely. The can shot clean through a heap of disregarded robot parts. "What does a guy have to do to get food around here?" Toby yelled, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Well," he mumbled to himself, "at least I found some clothes." He was currently wearing a plain, long-sleeved shirt to cover his arms not only from the cold, but also to shield the blisters from the elements and prying eyes. It most likely used to be white, but was wore down and covered in so much filth it now appeared as a disgusting brown. He also found a perfectly intact pair of jeans that were most likely a navy blue. Or used to be navy blue. When he found them, he used the fabric from the pants to bind his upper arm wound, mostly to stench the blood flow, because the sleeve kept his wound covered from people's sight. Of course, this entire place is probably abandoned, since he found no trace of human activity anywhere.

The shoes, thank God almighty, were no trouble finding, since the boots his Dad- Dr. Tenma gave him had not been burnt to ashes like the rest of his clothes.

Something to his left moved, its un-oiled gears creaking.

Toby froze mid-step, straining his advanced ears. The sound came again, closer this time. He dropped his foot and tensed, expecting another needy robot to pop out and grab at him. However, instead of a humanoid, ultra-desperate robot, a dog appeared. Mind you, it was still a robot, crudely made at that, but it definitely resembled a dog.

Its main body was made from a trashcan, and Toby spied the word "Trashcan" etched onto its surface. Its legs looked like they were just slapped on haphazardly, with wheels attached to the front legs, it's ears pinned to the side of its cylinder body. The top of the trashcan opened and shut with a bark, like a lid. "Help!" it barked and Toby's new ears understood the robot's speech perfectly.

Toby dropped his guard immediately, and rushed to the trashcan-dog. "What is it, boy?" he asked it, brow creased in worry.

"Sirs and Ma'ams in well!" it whimpered. "Can't get out! Help! Help!" Trashcan wheeled away, Toby stumbling behind it. "Were walking, Sirs and Ma'ams, but hole come and Sirs and Ma'ams fell," it continued, "Help!" _Is Tommy in the well, too_? the robot-boy thought to himself, but since the other machine probably did not know _Lassie_, he kept it to himself.

By the time the two arrived, Toby was aching and wheezing, his shoulder wound had reopened and was bleeding through the cloth binding around it. Luckily, most of the scratches had healed completely in the time he was sleeping, but the really horrible burns, (like on his entire front) were still there- red and blistery.

Toby almost fell into the gaping hole; it was surrounded by piles of garbage and fit nice and snug. No one would notice it until they were right over it.

Tentatively, the robot-boy hobbled forward, looking over the edge. It looked bottomless, even with his new eyes; he couldn't see the bottom!

"Uh," Toby turned back to Trashcan. "They fell here, righ-_ah_!" Trashcan slammed its tin body in Toby's chest and he was vaulted backwards, into the hole that could be very well bottomless- although, really, he couldn't think over the heart-stopping pain of his burn wounds. And thus, was rather helpless as he tumbled head over heels down a gigantic frickin' hole who-knows-how long.

Never talk to strangers, his father once warned. Oh, how right he was.

For half a second, though it felt like minutes, the poor boy was held in midair, as if gravity wasn't entirely sure what to do with this young man whom had fallen oh, so literally into its massive grip. And then, gravity decided to be a douche and drop him. Toby couldn't scream, air was lodged in his throat, uncomfortable, but he was too panicked to really do anything about it. He dropped like a stone, head over heels, brain buzzing with pain and terror, but no ideas on how to get out of this mess.

And then, he stopped.

Okay, really, he was enveloped in a thick, dark blanket almost as soon as he dropped, then stopped, which was actually plummeting face-first into some kind of metal, judging by the metallic sound of nose against iron. Before the rest of his body followed his nose's example, which miraculously did not smash into his brain, he readied himself for the overwhelming pain that would come in only milliseconds. But still, he could not help but let out a harsh, short scream from the force of it.

"Great job, Trashcan," a boy said, sounding no older than twelve from the sound of his voice.

The mechanism holding Toby aloft shifted. It swung upward and Toby, still enclosed and too hurt to move in the blanket, moved with it. The force of the push had him held snug against the cold machine beneath him. Wounds flaring, he grit his teeth, determined not to scream again, especially not in the company of strangers. The boy was thrown in midair, again, and when he hit the ground, he rolled and bounced so roughly that he knew he would be bleeding from re-opened wounds.

"Quick!" said another person, a woman, though at what age, Toby could not care less about. "Get the restraints on 'em!" she ordered.

Toby could do nothing but writhe quietly on the ground, trying to bottle up the pain. Small pairs of hands, that of children's, held him steady, smarting the half-healed burns and causing him to hiss. Another pair had his legs, hurting them too and only making him lash out harder.

When the cloth was pulled from his head, the people around him immediately stopped. "It's a kid!" yelled a girl to his right, looking looking at most tem years old. The boy next to her had the same plain brown eyes and shaggy hair. To his left, another girl and yet another boy. The eldest was by far the girl with cropped black hair, a streak of purple dye hanging in her eyes. Next to her was a boy with black hair, or rather, dark brown hair with matching dark eyes. All four had looks of utter confusion.

Thinking quickly, Toby realized that the children did not know he really was a robot. "Uh, yeah," he swallowed, hoping the others would not notice how horrible a liar he was, "I'm-I'm a kid; l-like you."

Dismayed, the children turned their backs on him, the oldest boy, the one with dark brown hair, went straight to the robot dog and set about wrestling a wrench out of its lid-mouth, telling it, "You're supposed to catch robots, not humans, useless garbage eater!"

The youngest children, who Toby concluded were siblings, since they looked so alike, went about the garbage heap around them, picking out various deeply rusted metal parts, evidently dismissing him.

The eldest, the girl with raven hair and a purple streak, peered at him through narrowed icy-blue eyes. "So, non-robot, where are you from?"

"Um," quickly, he chewed over the possibilities of telling this girl the truth. He decided the worst she and her friends could do was simply leave him. "Metro City."

Almost at the same time, everyone turned to look at him. The raven-haired girl widened her eyes. "Oh my gosh!" Four pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. "Did you here that, guys?" Her voice rose to mimic that of an over-excited schoolgirl. "He's from Metro City and he's talking to me!"

Toby knew that she was acting. There was an unpleasant and sarcastic gleam in her arctic eyes, and she was smiling a sharp smile. But, he asked anyway. "Are you okay?"

She squealed in completely fake excitement, clasping her hands together above her heart. "He talked to me twice!" She twirled. "Omg, this so going in my diary as the best day," abruptly, her act dropped. Her arms fell limply to her sides and she sent the robot-boy a piercing glare, "of my life."

"Okay," Toby said, removing the black fabric from his body, grimacing at stinging scratches, "you don't like Metro City people- I get it." He managed to stand and only wobbled at little, hissing through his teeth when his shoulder throbbed.

"Whoa," said the preteen, the other eldest boy, "What happened to you?"

Toby smiled, though it was probably a little strained. "I kind of fell. A lot." Then slipped into a coma for two days. "No need to worry; it looks a lot worse than it really is."

"Well," the blue-eyed girl said, eying the bloody shoulder, "I'm Cora."

The preteen grinned, showing a mouth of yellowed teeth and a missing canine. "I'm Zane." He thumbed his chest.

"And I'm Widget." The youngest girl smiled at him. No teeth were missing, though they were spaced drastically in the front teeth and chipped a little. Her face was littered with small scratches and covered in freckles.

Her brother elbowed her behind him, placing his hands on his hips and grinning. His teeth looked yellow as well, spaced out, too, but not as much as his sister's. "I'm Sludge. The bigger brother."

Widget pulled him back by the color of cotton shirt. "By ninety seconds," she said with a glare.

As much as he hated to admit it, Toby didn't really have a name. Sure he was still calling himself Toby, but that was only because he didn't know what else to call himself. He wasn't Toby and Dad-Dr. Tenma wasn't his father.

The group was staring at him; he was silent for too long. "Um. My name's," he hesitated frowning, "Toby. But I'm not- I'm mean it's not," he stopped, trying to fight back sudden tears. Weird, he thought to himself, I didn't know robots could cry.

"Dude," said Zane, softly, "it's just a name."

Toby snorted. "Right." He spied something. A simple, torn off bumper sticker; on it was "astro," probably used to spell out "astrology," or something. He decided to take the name. "I'm Astro. Just- just Astro."

-_-Border because stupid isn't letting me use the border I _want_!-_-

So, yeah. It's not perfect, but watever. R&R, please!

~Phooykazooi


End file.
